An Etymological Drash from Rav Hirsch on Jewish vs. Pagan Priests

This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Sarah in celebration of the marriage of Rivkie and Dovi Siderson. Mazal tov!

Click here for a printer-friendly 2-page version of this article, and click here for the podcast version.

Artwork: Shadal and Rav Hirsch having a debate in a library
(generated using the "outpainting" tool on DALL-E)

An Etymological Drash from Rav Hirsch on Jewish vs. Pagan Priests

There are two types of linguistic analysis of the Hebrew language found in Torah commentaries. The first type takes into consideration all available data as the basis for its conclusions and follows the evidence wherever it may lead. This approach may be described as “scientific,” “evidence-based,” or “academic.” The second type of analysis avowedly does not factor in all the data but is guided by a particular set of assumptions, philosophical beliefs, and rhetorical objectives. This approach may be described as “poetic,” “imaginative,” or “homiletical.” The first type of analysis is “bottom-up” whereas the second is “top-down.” The first is a necessity for “pshat” whereas the second is a valuable a tool in the arsenal of “drash.”

Shadal (Samuel David Luzzatto, 1800-1865) exemplifies the scientific approach, as Daniel Klein writes in his preface to Shadal on Genesis: “In his investigation of word meanings, Luzzatto drew upon every means at his disposal” including “comparisons with the later (Mishnaic) Hebrew of the rabbis and with languages cognate to Hebrew, such as Aramaic, Syriac, and Arabic” (p.22) Shadal’s commentary is replete with philological analyses based on his understanding of the evolution of the Hebrew language.

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888), a grand master of the poetic approach, holds by a different set of premises from Shadal. According to Mattityahu Clark (ed. Etymological Dictionary of Biblical Hebrew Based on the Commentaries of Samson Raphael Hirsch), Hirsch believed that Hebrew “is not a language that has historically developed and grown by absorbing or adapting words and expressions from foreign sources. Rather, it is a single, integral unit with its own internal structure and grammar, its own logic and patterns, its own meanings and nuances” (p.x). Hirsch “states repeatedly that one should not look to foreign languages to find meanings of words in the Torah,” believing instead that “the Hebrew language is self-contained” (p.xi). Thus, “in his analysis, Hirsch makes no use of or references to other languages of the ancient Near East” (p.293), instead basing his conclusions on his idiosyncratic theory of three-letter roots.

Although there are hundreds of examples which illustrate the differences between these two approaches, the main reason I wrote this article is to showcase a single excerpt from Rav Hirsch’s commentary in Parashas Mikeitz. Yosef is overcome with emotion upon seeing his younger brother Binyamin. “Yosef hurried because נִכְמְרוּ רַחֲמָיו towards his brother, and he sought to weep; he went into the room and wept there” (Bereishis 43:30). The basic question is: What does נכמרו רחמיו mean in the context of this pasuk?

A second question arises from a more common use of this three-letter root in the word כומר, which is universally understood to mean “pagan priest,” as in “[Yoshiyahu] also dismissed the כומרים” (II Melachim 23:5), “for its people will mourn over it, as well as its כומרים” (Hoshea 10:5), and “I will cut off from this place any remnant of the Baal and the memory of the ministers with the כומרים” (Tzfanya 1:4). The second question is: What, if anything, is the relationship between the expression נכמרו רחמיו and the word כומר?

Shadal’s Italian translation of the pasuk in Mikeitz (rendered into English by Daniel Klein) reads as follows: “And immediately Joseph, pity having been kindled in him toward his brother, and wanting to weep, entered into the room and wept there.” Shadal elaborates on his reasoning in his commentary (43:30):

kindled (nikhmeru). Became hot and burning, as in, “Our skin is hot [nikhmeru], like an oven” (Eichah 5:10). In Rosenmueller’s opinion (and before him the Alexandrian translation), the original meaning of rahamim [here translated as “pity”] was “bowels,” just as [the singular form] rehem [means “womb”].

Shadal is not the first one to translate נכמרו as “hot and burning” Ibn Ezra, Avraham ben ha’Rambam, Ralbag, and others took the same approach, many of them citing the same pasuk from Eichah.

As for our second question, we – or at least, I – don’t have access to Shadal’s commentary on any of the three instances of the word כומר cited above. We do, however, have the commentary Hoil Moshe by Rabbi Moshe Yitzchak Ashkenazi (Moisè Tedeschi, 1829-1898), one of Shadal’s “informal” students, who employs a similar evidence-based linguistic approach to that of his teacher:

הכומרים. According to [Heinrich Wilhelm] Gesenius (1786-1842) in his lexicon, its meaning is “those who burn incense.” If so, one must assume that the letters ג,י,כ,ק were transposed and its origin is Aramaic or Syriac. Gachalei eish (fiery coals) is translated as gumrin d’iysha, and the priests raise up smoke with fiery coals on the firepan; accordingly, they are superior in rank to priests whose forms of service are not as significant.

Thus far the scientific approach of Shadal. Rav Hirsch’s poetic approach stands in stark contrast. He reads our pasuk as: “Yosef hastened, for his feelings toward his brother had been stirred up and he wished to cry, and he went into the room and wept there” (trans. Daniel Haberman). Rav Hirsch’s commentary begins with a pshat answer to our first question, then segues into a drash answer to our second question:

נכמרו רחמיו. For Yosef knew what he intended to do to Binyamin, the painful ordeal he intended to put him through, even if only briefly.

כמר, the stirring up of strong emotions, is also the root of מכמורת, a net. A כומר is a pagan priest. The Rabbinic term כמר של זיתים denotes laying fruit on top of one another so that they should heat up and ripen, or it denotes burying them in the earth for this purpose, sealing them off until they become ripe and tender. מכמר בשרא (Pesachim 58b) – initial spoilage in meat. ביב שהוא קמור תחת הבית (Ohalos 3:7) – a hidden drain.

The basic meaning of כמר, then, is to keep back something, shut it up and prevent it from going free, and thus to bring it to fermentation. Thus, on the one hand, a net, and on the other, the process of fermentation. Transposed to the emotional realm, כמר denotes pent-up feelings which, as a result of repression, reach an intense state of ferment. Compare  כִּי יִתְחַמֵּץ לְבָבִי (Tehilim 73:21), emotional ferment which can no longer be contained in one’s breast; intense emotional excitement.

For this reason, apparently, pagan priests are called כמרים as opposed to כהנים. The Jewish כהן is not dependent on devotion, emotion. Jewish Divine service is not designed to excite dark mysterious feelings. The Jewish Sanctuary appeals primarily to the intellect: התפלל means to rectify one’s judgment and to make clear to oneself one’s relationship to things in general, one’s duties. Feelings are very cheap. One can weep copiously before God in prayer, and then get up and be no better than one was before! The כומר counts on exciting the emotions. The כהן, however, has to be כן with himself and מכין, provide others with firm direction and a firm basis. Heathenism works on the emotions and thereby shackles the intellect. The emotions, however, are like a clock mechanism without hands, restless movement that knows not whence or wither, which can be exploited for any purpose. The כומר fans the flames of hell and arouses fanaticism; he celebrates his triumph when נכמרו מעים, when the innards of the believers reach a point of total ferment.

This is a beautiful example of what I call “etymological drash.” Rav Hirsch uses the Hebrew language to expound on a core idea about Judaism. The fact that his analysis of the root כ.מ.ר. may or may not be “scientifically accurate” by the standards of modern philology is immaterial. This is the way of drash.

Fortunately, we are not forced to choose between the approaches of Shadal and Rav Hirsch, just as we need not commit ourselves exclusively to either pshat or drash. Rabbi David Fohrman once likened the interrelationship between pshat and drash to that of melody and harmony: both play different roles – the parameters of which must be understood to be effectively used – but together, they result in beautiful music.

________________________________________________________________

If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you.

If you would like to sponsor a day's or a week's worth of content, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone.

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  Email me if you'd like to be added to my WhatsApp group where I share all of my content and public shiur info. 

Why Talk About Other Religions?

The Torah content for this week has been sponsored by Ellis and Janice Cohen in memory of Rabbi Moskowitz zt"l.

Click here for a printer-friendly version of this article, and click here for an audio version.

Artwork: Shatter Assumptions, by Chuck Lukacs

Why Talk About Other Religions?

Last week I wrote an article which concluded with the following paragraph:

One of the many aspects of Judaism I appreciate is the ability to conduct “halachic archaeology.” In other religions and cultures, asking, “Why do we do XYZ?” will often be met with a shrug – or worse, with the non-answer of “TRADITION!” In Judaism, there are always answers, and it is always possible to conduct research to find them.

A friend of mine posed the following questions, in a series of sequential Facebook comments (abbreviated here):

Why do you think this is a difference between Judaism and other religions and cultures, rather than a difference between thoughtful people and the masses in many religions and cultures? …  At least speaking for myself, I am more confident in my knowledge of the good of Torah, than in the things other cultures/religions are missing. How do you know that they lack that value (at least as an ideal)? Even if other cultures had a similar value, how likely would you have heard of it? Flipping the question, how likely would an outsider be to know Torah is chachma (wisdom) based? …

More importantly, what is the need to look outside and make the comparison? What is lacking if we “merely” had gratitude for being part of a system which values this, without raising the question if others have the value too? … I guess this is a special case of a broader question. Why do we sometimes focus on the contrast (“shelo asani Goy” “for not making me a gentile,” “asher bachar banu mikol ha’amim” “Who chose us from among all the nations” etc.). What do we mean by it and what does it add? What would be lacking if we only reflected on the good that we have (“she’asani Yisrael” “Who made me a Jew”), without worrying about how it stacks up with other peoples’ good?

Strictly speaking, my friend is probably correct. Other religions and cultures may indeed have a contingent which can answer the types of questions I raised. Perhaps other religions and cultures do share this same value of chochmah that we have in Judaism. Perhaps there is no need to look outside of ourselves. Perhaps we should focus exclusively on our own good – yet, I am nevertheless compelled by my pedagogic experience and intuition to make such statements anyway.

When I was a high school teacher, I taught many students who were in conflict about their Judaism and/or their conviction in God. I was not at all bothered by such students. In fact, I often found that they were more intellectually honest in their quest for truth than many of their peers. But you know what really irked me? When they expressed their doubts and questions by saying things like, “I’m not so into religion” or “I have questions about religion” or “I don’t think I can accept religion.” This bothered me. A lot. I would ask them, “Is your question about ‘religion’ in general or is it about your religion of Judaism?” Sure enough, their question was always about Judaism in specific. Upon establishing this, I’d ask, “So why are you expressing your questions and doubts as if they are about ‘religion’ in general?” This was a rhetorical question. I knew the answer: in their minds, Judaism was basically no different than any other religion. And since they were raised in a secular and anti-religious culture, many of their objections to Judaism were raised in the framework of generic “religion.” 

Because I taught so many kids like this, I got into the habit of emphasizing that Judaism is not an ordinary religion. Was this rhetoric on my part? Yes. But I felt that this rhetoric was necessary in our day and age. I did not want a single one of my students to waltz through their four years of high school making the mistake of lumping Judaism into the same category as other religions. I wanted to ensure that any time they felt an anti-religious impulse, they would ask themselves, “Is this a problem I have with religion or with Judaism? Does Judaism actually hold like this, or am I making assumptions?” 

To answer my friend’s question: yes, I can only speak with any degree of authority about Judaism. Perhaps I would be better off only talking and writing about what I know, without making assumptions about other religions and cultures. And yet, even though I am currently not a high school teacher, I feel compelled to continue doing my part in this ongoing culture war by differentiating Judaism from other religions. If such distinctions prove to be inaccurate but lead readers to question their assumptions and delve deeper into Judaism, then I have done my job. And I have Hillel as my precedent.

__________________________________________________________________________

If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you.

If you would like to sponsor a day's or a week's worth of content, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone.

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  Email me if you'd like to be added to my WhatsApp group where I share all of my content and public shiur info. 

Parashas Vayeira: Avraham and Islam

Today's Torah content has been sponsored by someone who makes regular contributions, not only to the Torah content fund, but also to my shiurim.

Click here for a printer-friendly version of this article, and click here for an audio version.

Parashas Vayeira: Avraham and Islam

Avraham Avinu is distressed by Sarah’s instructions to banish Hagar and Yishmael from their home. Hashem addresses Avraham’s concerns:

God said to Avraham, “Do not let the matter of this youth and your maidservant be evil in your eyes. Whatever Sarah tells you, heed her voice, since through Yitzchak will offspring be considered yours. But also the son of the maidservant I will make into a nation, for he is your offspring.” (Bereishis 21:12-13)

The plain pshat of the statement “I will also make [Yishmael] into a nation” is that Yishmael’s offspring will be numerous, as the Rambam explains in his Iggeres Teiman. However, R’ Avraham ben ha’Rambam notes (ibid.) that this statement contains an allusion to another aspect of Yishmael’s destiny:

But also the son etc. – this alludes to the revelation of Islam, [the adherents of which] believe in the Oneness of the Creator, [and who descend] from him (i.e. from Yishmael). How precise are His words, exalted is He: “I will make him [into a nation]” [implying] at a later time, after the revelation of the religion of Israel, and at a time of darkness for them, on account of their sins. “He told the end from the beginning” (cf. Yeshayahu 46:10).

R’ Avraham ben ha’Rambam saw the rise of the monotheistic Islam as a fulfillment of the promise to Avraham regarding Yishmael. When the offspring of Yitzchak are in “darkness … on account of their sins,” the offspring of Yishmael will raise the banner of Yichud Hashem (God’s Oneness), as their legacy from Avraham Avinu.

When taken in isolation, these words seem like an unqualified endorsement of Islam. Even more, they would seem to indicate R’ Avraham’s view that Islam is sanctioned by Hashem, Himself! However, this overly simplistic view ignores a comment that R’ Avraham made two pesukim earlier (ibid. 21:10):

The religious perfection that was promised to the offspring of Avraham would not include a partnership between the offspring of Yishmael and the offspring of Yitzchak, for [Yishmael] would not inherit a complete partnership with Yitzchak in terms of perfection. This is true, since the offspring of Yishmael would not be obligated in Torah, and even though they believed in it, they renounced it with claims of invalidation and emptied it with claims of modification and forgery. And even though they believe in the Oneness of the Creator, [their belief] in common with the offspring of Yaakov would only be during times of darkness for the offspring of Yitzchak. Therefore, Yishmael would not inherit perfection with Yitzchak.

R’ Avraham is referring here to the Islamic doctrine of Taḥrīf, by which the Muslims maintain that the Jews modified our Torah to remove references to Mohammad.

We see from here that Judaism’s stance on Islam is nuanced. Some of its features are good enough to be alluded to in Hashem’s promises to Avraham; other features are bad enough to remove Yishmael’s descendants from Avraham’s legacy of perfection. Likewise, the role that Islam will play in the unfolding of Hashem’s plan is unclear. Many Jews have been oppressed and killed at the hands of Muslims – and yet, it is impossible for us to see the big picture from our limited vantage point. Rambam expresses this truth in Hilchos Melachim u’Milchamos 11:4:

But the plans of the Creator of the Universe are not within the capacity of man to grasp, for our ways are not His ways and our thoughts are not His thoughts. All these matters of Jesus of Nazareth and the Ishmaelite who arose after him – all of these have only straightened the path for the Melech ha'Moshiach (King Messiah), and prepared the world to serve Hashem together, as it is stated: "then I will transform all the peoples, that they all will call upon the name of Hashem and serve Him with one purpose" (Tzephania 3:9).

___________________________________________________________________________________

If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you. 

If you would like to sponsor an article, shiur, or podcast episode, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone. 

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here. 

Halacha as a Playground of Mindfulness

Today's Torah content has been brought to you by the generosity of my Patrons on Patreon.

Click here for a printer-friendly version of this article, and click here for an audio version.

Halacha as a Playground of Mindfulness

Last week I saw a comic depicting a fishbowl floating in an ocean. The fish in the fishbowl is labeled “religion.” The fish in the water outside the fishbowl is labeled “spirituality.” The implication is that the spirituality fish is looking upon the religion fish with pity, as if to say, “You poor thing. Why do you insist on being confined to this fishbowl when you could be free in the open ocean, like me?”

The comic had been posted in a mindfulness group on Facebook. This is not the first time I’ve encountered an underlying streak of anti-religious sentiment among self-identified practitioners of mindfulness. I don’t blame the creator of the comic, nor do I blame those for whom the comic resonates. As an Orthodox Jew, I would even describe myself as “anti-religious.” (And if that sounds like a paradox, read my article, Is Judaism a Religion?) Still, it irks me when I see legitimate criticisms and complaints about other religions indiscriminately applied to Judaism, and this is a perfect example: the sentiment in this comic is the polar opposite of my own experience as an observant Jew who aspires to live a life of mindfulness.

I agree with the image and captioning of the comic, but I disagree with its implied value judgment. Orthodox Judaism is like a fishbowl in that it imposes restrictions on an otherwise unrestricted life. Those who choose not to observe halacha are like the fish in the ocean in that they aren’t confined. However, being unconfined is not the same as being free, and the boundaries of halacha constitute a path to true human freedom.

This is not a chidush (novel insight). I’ve given shiurim and written articles about my own take on the liberating qualities of halacha. My favorite of these articles is I Hate Sukkah (in a Good Way), in which I draw upon dialogue from My Dinner With Andre and the teachings of Bruce Lee to frame halacha as a system of “skillful frustrations” designed to promote our development as truth-seeking human beings.

But while I have written articles on the relationship between halacha and freedom, I haven’t addressed the relationship between halacha and mindfulness – specifically, the type of mindfulness valued by those who agree with the comic. Chapter 14 of Greg McKeown’s book, Essentialism: the Disciplined Pursuit of Less, is entitled: “Limit: the freedom of setting boundaries.” The author illustrates this counter-intuitive point with an anecdote:

This truth is demonstrated by the story of a school located next to a busy road. At first the children played only on a small swath of the playground, close to the building where the grownups could keep their eyes on them. But then someone constructed a fence around the playground. Now the children were able to play anywhere and everywhere on the playground. Their freedom, in effect, more than doubled.

Similarly, when we don’t set clear boundaries in our lives we can end up imprisoned by the limits others have set for us. When we have clear boundaries, on the other hand, we are free to select from the whole area – or the whole range of options – that we have deliberately chosen to explore.

Halacha transforms every aspect of life into an anchor for mindfulness. Our “fishbowls,” the boundaries created by our halachic obligations and restrictions, serve as our prompts. By surrounding ourselves with these manifold mindfulness prompts, we enjoy countless opportunities for awakening. And since all the mitzvos have reasons – to develop our intellects, our character traits, or to promote justice in society – these prompts not only pull us out of the trance of mindlessness, but they also develop us in specific ways. In other words, not only do they facilitate “awakening from,” but also “awakening to.” Halacha guides us towards mindfulness in everything we do.

For these reasons and more, I believe that the fish inside the bowl enjoys more freedom than the fish in the ocean.

___________________________________________________________________________________

If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you. 

If you would like to sponsor an article, shiur, or podcast episode, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone. 

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here. 

How I Teach Maaseh Bereishis - Part 2 of 2

This post is a continuation of How I Teach Maaseh Bereishis - Part 1 of 2. It is recommended that you read that post before reading this one.

Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

How I Teach Maaseh Bereishis - Part 2 of 2

Reminder: The term “Maaseh Bereishis” in this post refers specifically to the text of Bereishis Perek 1 (Genesis Chapter 1). It does not refer to the pesukim after the first perek, nor does it refer to the event of the creation – just the pesukim. 

Kass's Approach to Maaseh Bereishis 

We left off with the following question: if the pesukim of Bereishis Perek 1 were never intended to be taken literally, and the true meaning was only intended for the elite chachamim, then what purpose do these pesukim serve for the masses? What is the average Jew supposed to get out of a literal reading of Maaseh Bereishis? Why didn't the Torah simply state the fact that Hashem created the universe in Six Days in a single pasuk and leave the detailed account to Torah she'baal Peh, as the Ramban suggested?

The best answer to this question I’ve encountered can be found in Leon Kass’s commentary on Sefer Bereishis, entitled, The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis (2003). Kass is a secular philosopher [1] whose commentary utilizes what he refers to as “a wisdom-seeking approach” to the text of the Bible (see this post for an elaboration). Though I cannot endorse his entire book, both because I haven’t read it all and I didn’t agree with everything I did read, his approach to Maaseh Bereishis certainly opened my eyes, and inspired the direction I take in teaching this unit. 

Here is Kass’s commentary on the first pasuk of Bereishis. I’ve underlined the passages which led me to develop the approach I use when teaching this to my students: 

Unfortunately for those who demand clear pictures, the text’s account of the very beginning is shrouded in mystery:

In beginning, God [’elohim] created the heavens and the earth. 

The first sentence of Genesis majestically summarizes the entire story and states its main theme and thesis: creation, by God, and creation by God. Yet there is much in this verse that is hard to understand: in beginning of what? (Of time? Of everything? Of God’s creative activities?) What is “creating”? And who or what is this creating being, God? To some of these difficulties – especially creation – we shall return. But even now, with our incomplete understanding, we grasp a major point: the assertion of creation by God emphatically denies important competing alternatives. Right from its beginning, Genesis, by speaking about the origins of heaven and earth, denies the eternity and, a fortiori, the divinity of the visible universe: neither the heavens – the lofty celestial vault with its sun, moon, stars – nor the earth, the fertile, teeming source of life, are gods. They are, rather, creatures, creations of God. Perhaps more important, Genesis denies the alternative of generative beginnings: the sky did not beget upon the earth; our world is not the result of sexual (or warring) activities of gods and goddesses. In denying that the world comes to be through giving birth – that is, in rejecting cosmogony and, all the more so, theogony – Genesis begins by rejecting the necessity of polytheism. The coming into being of our world does not imply or demand more than one god.  

The Bible does not polemicize against these alternatives. As Umberto Cassuto remarks, “the controversial note is heard indirectly, as it were, through the deliberate, quiet utterances of Scripture, which sets the opposing views at naught by silence or by subtle hint.” Still, one cannot exaggerate the importance the Bible attaches to rejecting these alternatives. Numerous people of the ancient Near East – and elsewhere – regarded the heavenly bodies as divine. In the course of Genesis, we shall meet – as alternative and rejected ways of life – the Babylonians, who looked up to the heavens, and the Egyptians, who worshipped the sun and other nature gods. Because every people (and also every person) is defined ultimately by what it (or he or she) admires and reveres, the Bible wastes no time in denying the standing of other peoples’ candidates for the divine. The reason for this urgent rejection is a matter to which we will return. 

Skipping a few paragraphs, here’s another part of Kass’s commentary which highlights his approach: 

The account, though comprehensive, has an earth-centered focus. Though it speaks about what we call, in nonbiblical language, the universe or the cosmos, it addresses us, as terrestrial beings and as seeing beings, looking around and, especially, up. It begins with what we recognize and trust: the visible world we see above and about us. It shows us the articulated world of our native experience, as it manifests itself to sight.

All the beings mentioned are known to us in ordinary experience: There are no mythical beasts and no gods and goddesses. The main regions of our world are present – land, sea, and air – with their appropriate inhabitants, divided into recognizable kinds or species. And the overarching, star-studded, watery blue vault of heaven that beckons our gaze is present almost from the start, preceded only by light, in the absence of which nothing at all could be distinguished or gazed upon. By addressing human beings exactly as they experience the world, especially through sight, Genesis begins with what is both familiar and first for us, and for all mankind at all times.

But in the course of appealing first to our familiar point of view, the story in fact calls that viewpoint into question. Although addressed to our experience, the account of Genesis 1 does not simply accord with our experience; indeed, some of the peculiarities of the account induce perplexities about the way we ordinarily encounter the world. 

To review, our question is: What purpose is served by the literal pshat of Maaseh Bereishis, as read and understood by the masses? Based on the approach set forth by Kass, we may answer our question as follows: Maaseh Bereishis is intended to be a philosophical primer for healthy development as a tzelem Elokim (truth-seeking intellect). Specifically, its purpose is twofold: (1) to establish the foundations of a worldview which helps the masses develop a philosophically mature way of relating to the world around them, and (2) to steer these readers away from competing worldviews which would otherwise arrest their philosophical maturation. 

This may seem like a radical move on the Torah’s part, but in truth, it is merely a specialized instance of dibra Torah ki’lshon bnei adam (“the Torah speaks in the language of man”). Rather than stating the “raw truth” explicitly, in a manner that would be incomprehensible and/or detrimental to the majority of readers, the Torah presents the truth in a manner which is accessible to the average readers on their level, in terms they can easily relate to. This “watered down” version of the truth is designed as a developmental primer. In other words, the literal interpretation is not intended to remain as the reader’s permanent understanding, like a classical myth; it is meant to temporarily frame the reader’s conception and lay the groundwork for the next step in his or her understanding. As the reader continues to develop intellectually and psychologically, he or she will delve deeper into the true meaning underlying the external sense of the pesukim and come to terms with the truth at his or her own pace. The Torah uses this approach when speaking about Hashem; the Neviim and Kesuvim use this approach with many subjects; Chazal use this approach in midrashim. It shouldn’t surprise us that the Torah uses this approach when discussing the profound subject of Maaseh Bereishis.

Before expanding on this approach, I'd like to anticipate and address an objection. Our instinctive reaction as "modern readers" is to compare and contrast the Torah’s account with our modern scientific understanding of cosmogony. If we do this, we will surely be disappointed. The Torah's geocentric narrative of the Six Days of Creation pales in comparison to the current theoretical model of the Big Bang and the unfolding of the entire universe. Some might even consider the Torah's account to appear childish in comparison. 

But we must remember that the Torah was not addressing itself to "scientifically enlightened" readers in the 21st century. Rather, as Kass pointed out, the Torah's narrative was competing with pre-scientific and non-scientific creation mythology - and rightly so, for it is these myths which have dominated mankind's conception of the heavens and earth for millennia. If the Torah had been written specifically for the 21st century, for an audience that already has a basic grasp of scientific thinking, or for readers immersed in a world where secular atheism is the competing worldview with Torah monotheism, I'm sure that the pesukim of Maaseh Bereishis would look quite different. 

It is this realization that the Torah was aimed at combating myths which prompted me to use an out-of-the-box method in presenting this to my students. 

Comparing Maaseh Bereishis to Creation Myths of Other Religions 

Rather than spoon-feeding this reading of Maaseh Bereishis to my students or having them read the relevant excerpts from Kass’s book, I try to have them derive it on their own. I found a site called www.BigMyth.com. The home page shows a map of the world with 25 dots identifying regions on six of the seven continents. If you hover your mouse over a dot, the name of the nation, culture, or religion will pop up (e.g. Egyptian, Chinese, Maori, Inuit, Inca, etc.). Once you make your selection, you’ll be taken to an early 2000’s era “flash animation” which depicts that group’s creation story, complete with cheesy sound effects and narration. 

I show my students the first couple of minutes of around 5-7 of these animations, then encourage them to watch more at home prior to doing their assignment. Their assignment is to identify the major differences between the Torah’s account of creation and the creation myths of these groups. I tell them to focus on how each account of creation might impact the way that these people view the human race, God (or gods), and the universe as a whole. 

On the day after the assignment is due, we go through the students’ findings and discuss them. I conclude the unit by presenting what I see as the key differences between the Torah’s account of creation and the common features of these creation myths. Here are a few examples. 

anthropomorphic creator(s) vs. non-anthropomorphic Creator: Other religions depict their god(s) in highly anthropomorphic ways. The Torah does not. The only verbs it uses are verbs which do not evoke strong anthropomorphic imagery (e.g. creating, speaking, seeing, separating, calling, making, placing etc.) as opposed to the gross anthropomorphisms found throughout the rest of the Torah (e.g. body parts, such as eyes, ears, hand, arm, or emotions such as anger, sadness, regret, mercy, love). It is as though the Torah wants our introduction to Hashem to be as devoid of physicality as possible, so as not to not lead us to associate the physical universe as proceeding from a physical creator – especially one that resembles ourselves. All of this prepares our minds to seek out the non-physical causes of nature, which will ultimately lead us to the non-physical First Cause.

multiple creators vs. One Creator: Many other creation stories involve multiple creators and/or divinities. According to the Torah, Hashem was the sole cause of the universe. A person who believes that the universe is the product of multiple gods will have no impetus to seek a unity of design underlying the diverse particulars of the universe. Why should he, if different parts of the universe belong to different gods? But according to the Torah, there is only One Architect of the universe with one law that governs His entire domain.

“scientific” account of creation vs. “magical” account of creation: Other religions’ creation stories are mythological and fantastical. Many of them involve a multiplicity of divine beings (e.g. spirits, angels, demons, demi-gods), supernatural objects with mystical properties, and magical generative processes. In contrast, Maaseh Bereishis is scientific in its character. It describes an orderly creation process involving things we see in the world around us: no otherworldly beings or supernatural things – just earthly phenomena that we observe around us every day. Even the actions of the Creator are not described in miraculous terms. It is easy to see how this orientation towards the world lends itself to a value system which promotes scientific inquiry, rather than imaginative mythos and primitive superstiion.

yeish me’yesh (creation out of something) vs. yeish me’ayin (creation out of nothing): Many other creation stories begin with something that already exists, and everything emanates or is created from that. According to the Torah – as understood by the majority of the meforshim – Hashem created the universe out of nothing. Therefore, He is truly the First Cause, and nothing can be compared to Him in His eternality. In other words, there is nothing in the Torah’s account that occupies the “throne” of eternality other than Hashem.

universe as divinity vs. universe as creation: Other religions maintain that the universe itself is divine, or has divine qualities. The Torah makes it clear that the entire universe is a creation. This rules out the possibility of worshipping the universe or parts of the universe (e.g. sun, moon, stars, planets) as gods, or having godly qualities. It can be argued that this is the essential difference between a primitive outlook and a scientific one. So long as a society perceives nature as a panoply of divinities, each with its own independent will that must be appeased, the gates of scientific inquiry will be barred and concealed.

creation process as melachah (intelligent design) vs. creation as non-melachah: Other religions’ creation stories involve accidents, mistakes, and automatic generative processes. According to the Torah, the entire work of creation is characterized as “melachah” – a deliberate creative process in which matter is transformed in accordance with intelligent design – and the sequence of days follows a logical, hierarchical order. Moreover, it is clear that our Creator knows what He is doing: at each step of the way, he declares what He intends to do, He does it, and He perceives that it is good. At the end of the Six Days of Creation, He deems the entire creation as “very good” – that is, produced in complete accord with His plan. It is easy to see how this analogy of melachah would radically alter a person’s view of the universe. Are we living in a universe which is an expression of wisdom, with an underlying lawfulness and order that can be discerned by the truth-seeking human intellect, or was the universe a fluke, a blunder, or the result of blind forces acting without any objective or blueprint.

no motives are given for creation vs. creation is a result of human motives: In the creation stories of other religions, motives are given for the actions of the gods. Usually these motives are petty: because the god is lonely, because the god is angry, because the god wants to be worshipped, etc. In stark contrast, the Torah says nothing about why Hashem created the universe. This underscores the Torah’s view that we cannot know the purpose of the universe, because we cannot know Hashem’s Mind, which is identical with His unknowable Essence. 

These aren’t the only differences between Maaseh Bereishis and the creation myths of other religions, but I hope they illustrate how a literal reading of the pesukim paves the way for the development of the scientific and philosophical worldview that is the ultimate objective of the Torah regimen. At the very least, I hope these fundamental distinctions highlight how being raised with the creation myths of other religions makes it extremely difficult for scientific truth-seeking thinkers to arise from their ranks. 

Conclusion 

So that concludes my overview of Unit 1: Maaseh Bereishis. I tweak it from year to year, and emphasize different things based on my students and their questions, but the core presentation has remained the same. If the only thing my students walk away with is an awareness that the pesukim of Maaseh Bereishis were never intended to be taken literally, and that that the literal meaning of the pesukim was designed to promote a scientific, philosophically mature worldview, then I have done my job. But I am always looking for ways to improve, so if you have any questions, objections, or suggestions about what I have presented here, then please do share!

[1] According to his Wikipedia page, he is “an American physician, scientist, educator, and public intellectual, best known as proponent of liberal education via the ‘Great Books,’ as an opponent of human cloning, life extension and euthanasia, as a critic of certain areas of technological progress and embryo research, and for his controversial tenure as chairman of the President's Council on Bioethics from 2001 to 2005. Although Kass is often referred to as a bioethicist, he eschews the term and refers to himself as ‘an old-fashioned humanist. A humanist is concerned broadly with all aspects of human life, not just the ethical.’” 

How Thomas Paine Forgot Sinai

Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Artwork: Portrait of Thomas Paine, by Laurent Dabos

How Thomas Paine Forgot Sinai

In 1794 Thomas Paine published his pro-Deism anti-religion book, The Age of Reason. Quite early on in the book he sets forth his refutation of "Divine revelation." He begins by affirming the centrality of revelation in the three major religions. 

Every national church or religion has established itself by pretending some special mission from God, communicated to certain individuals. The Jews have their Moses; the Christians their Jesus Christ, their apostles and saints; and the Turks their Mahomet, as if the way to God was not open to every man alike. 

Each of those churches show certain books, which they call revelation, or the word of God. The Jews say, that their word of God was given by God to Moses, face to face; the Christians say, that their word of God came by divine inspiration: and the Turks say, that their word of God (the Koran) was brought by an angel from Heaven. Each of those churches accuse the other of unbelief; and for my own part, I disbelieve them all. 

So far, so good. Next, he defines the term "revelation" and, on the basis of this definition, states that something can only be considered a "revelation" by the direct recipient of the communication.

As it is necessary to affix right ideas to words, I will, before I proceed further into the subject, offer some other observations on the word revelation. Revelation, when applied to religion, means something communicated immediately from God to man. 

No one will deny or dispute the power of the Almighty to make such a communication, if he pleases. But admitting, for the sake of a case, that something has been revealed to a certain person, and not revealed to any other person, it is revelation to that person only. When he tells it to a second person, a second to a third, a third to a fourth, and so on, it ceases to be a revelation to all those persons. It is revelation to the first person only, and hearsay to every other, and consequently they are not obliged to believe it. 

It is a contradiction in terms and ideas, to call anything a revelation that comes to us at second-hand, either verbally or in writing. Revelation is necessarily limited to the first communication — after this, it is only an account of something which that person says was a revelation made to him; and though he may find himself obliged to believe it, it cannot be incumbent on me to believe it in the same manner; for it was not a revelation made to me, and I have only his word for it that it was made to him.

Also good. This is why we reject the authority of any religion based on one, two, or several individuals who claim to have received a divine revelation. There is no way to verify such a claim, and no reason to trust those who make it.

But then he makes an egregious factual error about Judaism's revelation claim:

When Moses told the children of Israel that he received the two tables of the commandments from the hands of God, they were not obliged to believe him, because they had no other authority for it than his telling them so; and I have no other authority for it than some historian telling me so. The commandments carry no internal evidence of divinity with them; they contain some good moral precepts, such as any man qualified to be a lawgiver, or a legislator, could produce himself, without having recourse to supernatural intervention.

Thomas Paine completely missed the one claim which sets Judaism apart from all other religions: the claim of public revelation - that the entire nation of Israel heard God speak to Moshe at Sinai. 

The Torah explicitly makes this claim in a number of places:

Hashem said to Moshe, "Behold! I will come to you in the thickness of the cloud, in order that the people hear when I speak with you, and they will also believe in you forever." (Shemos 19:9)

Only beware for yourself and greatly beware for your soul, lest you forget the things that your eyes have beheld and lest you remove them from your heart all the days of your life, and make them known to your children and your children’s children – the day that you stood before Hashem, your God, at Horeb, when Hashem said to me, “Gather the people to Me and I shall let them hear My words, so that they shall learn to fear Me all the days that they live on the earth, and they shall teach their children” So you approached and stood at the foot of the mountain, and the mountain was burning with fire up to the heart of heaven, darkness, cloud, and thick cloud. Hashem spoke to you from the midst of the fire; you were hearing the sound of words, but you were not seeing a likeness, only a sound. He told you of His covenant that He commanded you to observe, the Ten Declarations, and He inscribed them on two stone Tablets. (Devarim 4:9-13) 

For inquire now regarding the early days that preceded you, from the day when God created man on the earth, and from one end of heaven to the other end of heaven: Has there ever been anything like this great thing or has anything like it been heard? Has a people ever heard the voice of God speaking from the midst of the fire as you have heard, and survived? Or has any god ever miraculously come to take for himself a nation from amidst a nation, with challenges, with signs, and with wonders, and with war, and with a strong hand, and with an outstretched arm, and with greatly awesome deeds, such as everything that Hashem, your God, did for you in Egypt before your eyes? You have been shown in order to know that Hashem, He is the God! There is none beside Him! From heaven He caused you to hear His voice in order to teach you, and on earth He showed you His great fire, and you heard His words from the midst of the fire, because He loved your forefathers, and He chose his offspring after him, and took you out before Himself with His great strength from Egypt; to drive away from before you nations that are greater and mightier than you, to bring you, to give you their land as an inheritance, as this very day. (ibid. 4:32-37) 

These words Hashem spoke to your entire congregation on the mountain, from the midst of the fire, the cloud, and the thick cloud – a great voice, never to be repeated – and He inscribed them on two stone Tablets and gave them to me. It happened that when you heard the voice from the midst of the darkness and the mountain was burning in fire, that you – all the heads of your tribes and your elders – approached me. They said, “Behold! Hashem, our God, has shown us His glory and His greatness, and we have heard His voice from the midst of the fire; this day we saw that Hashem will speak to a person and he can live. But now, why should we die when this great fire consumes us? If we continue to hear the voice of Hashem, our God, any longer, we will die! For is there any human that has heard the voice of the Living God speaking from the midst of the fire, as we have, and lived? You should approach and hear whatever Hashem, our God, will say, and you should speak to us whatever Hashem, our God, will speak to you – then we shall hear and we shall do.” (ibid. 5:19-23)

So I made an Ark of cedarwood and I carved out two stone Tablets like the first ones; then I ascended the mountain with the two Tablets in my hand. He inscribed on the Tablets according to the first script, the Ten Statements that Hashem spoke to you on the mountain from the midst of the fire, on the day of the congregation, and Hashem gave them to me. I turned and descended from the mountain, and I placed the Tablets in the Ark that I had made, and they remained there as Hashem had commanded me. (Devarim 10:3-5) 

This was my first reading of Paine's The Age of Reason, and I must say that he severely undermined his own credibility by not even bothering to do a fact-check on the source-text of the religion he intends to debunk! He even stated earlier that "the Jews say, that their word of God was given by God to Moses, face to face." Apparently, he didn't believe that we take our own claim seriously!

But it gets better! In the next chapter Paine sets up an argument about the evidence needed to believe in miracles. As we'll see, if he applied this line of reasoning to what Judaism actually claims, this would lead him to the conclusion that the Torah was given at Sinai. Paine writes:

When I am told that the Koran was written in Heaven and brought to Mahomet by an angel, the account comes too near the same kind of hearsay evidence and second-hand authority as the former. I did not see the angel myself, and, therefore, I have a right not to believe it. 

When also I am told that a woman called the Virgin Mary, said, or gave out, that she was with child without any cohabitation with a man, and that her betrothed husband, Joseph, said that an angel told him so, I have a right to believe them or not; such a circumstance required a much stronger evidence than their bare word for it; but we have not even this — for neither Joseph nor Mary wrote any such matter themselves; it is only reported by others that they said so — it is hearsay upon hearsay, and I do not choose to rest my belief upon such evidence ... 

The wretched contrivance with which this latter part is told exceeds every thing that went before it. The first part, that of the miraculous conception, was not a thing that admitted of publicity; and therefore the tellers of this part of the story had this advantage, that though they might not be credited, they could not be detected. They could not be expected to prove it, because it was not one of those things that admitted of proof, and it was impossible that the person of whom it was told could prove it himself. 

But the resurrection of a dead person from the grave, and his ascension through the air, is a thing very different as to the evidence it admits of, to the invisible conception of a child in the womb. The resurrection and ascension, supposing them to have taken place, admitted of public and ocular demonstration, like that of the ascension of a balloon, or the sun at noon-day, to all Jerusalem at least. A thing which everybody is required to believe, requires that the proof and evidence of it should be equal to all, and universal; and as the public visibility of this last related act was the only evidence that could give sanction to the former part, the whole of it falls to the ground, because that evidence never was given. Instead of this, a small number of persons, not more than eight or nine, are introduced as proxies for the whole world, to say they saw it, and all the rest of the world are called upon to believe it. But it appears that Thomas did not believe the resurrection, and, as they say, would not believe without having ocular and manual demonstration himself. So neither will I, and the reason is equally as good for me, and for every other person, as for Thomas. 

It is in vain to attempt to palliate or disguise this matter. The story, so far as relates to the supernatural part, has every mark of fraud and imposition stamped upon the face of it. Who were the authors of it is as impossible for us now to know, as it is for us to be assured that the books in which the account is related were written by the persons whose names they bear; the best surviving evidence we now have respecting that affair is the Jews. They are regularly descended from the people who lived in the times this resurrection and ascension is said to have happened, and they say, it is not true. It has long appeared to me a strange inconsistency to cite the Jews as a proof of the truth of the story. It is just the same as if a man were to say, I will prove the truth of what I have told you by producing the people who say it is false.

To summarize, Paine's criteria for believing in a miraculous phenomenon are three in number:

(1) the miracle would have to be publicly visible ("admitting to public and oracular demonstration ... like that of the ascension of a balloon, or the sun at noon-day") 

(2) it would have to have been witnessed by a large group of people (not "a small number of persons, not more than eight or nine ... introduced as proxies for the whole world" and "to all Jerusalem at least") 

(3) these witnesses would have to be identifiable (not "impossible for us to now know"), so that their testimony could be corroborated by non-witnesses 

Paine even acknowledges that the descendants of the alleged witnesses to a public miracle would be sufficient to establish its historicity, writing that "[the Jews] are regularly descended from the people who lived in the times this resurrection and ascension is said to have happened, and they say it is not true" - implying that if they did say that these miracles happened, then we would believe them.

Guess which miraculous event meets these three criteria? The Giving of the Torah at Sinai! If you haven't yet read the entitled Torah from Sinai, then I recommend you drop everything and read it as soon as possible. For those who have read it, I will quote the passage that speaks most directly to Thomas Paine:

We are now in a position to determine what [sort of miraculous] event could be performed that would retain its validity for future generations. Since future generations cannot observe the event directly, it would have to be an event that rules out in its process of communication the causes of doubt due to the ignorance of the communicators and due to fabrication. A simple event grasped easily by the senses that occurs before a mass of people who later attest to its occurrence would fulfill the requirements. Such an event would have all the credibility of the most accepted historical fact. If we doubt either a simple event attested to by masses of people or a complex event attested to by qualified individuals, we would ipso facto have to doubt almost all the knowledge we have acquired in all the sciences, all the humanities, and in all the different disciplines existing today. Moreover we would have to desist from consulting with physicians, dentists, lawyers, mechanics, plumbers, electricians, or specialists in any field who work from an accepted body of knowledge. 

The event at Sinai fulfills the above requirements. The events witnessed as described were of a simple perceptual nature so that ordinary people could apprehend them. The event at Sinai was structured with the same built-in ingredients that cause us to accept any historical fact or any kind of secondhand knowledge ...

Someone may ask how we know that these events were as described in the Torah, clearly visible, and that they transpired before the entire nation. Perhaps this itself is a fabrication? The answer to this question is obvious. We accept a simple fact attested to by numerous observers because we consider mass conspiracy absurd. For the very same reason no public event can be fabricated, for we would have to assume a mass conspiracy of silence with regard to the occurrence of that event. If someone were to tell us that an atomic bomb was detonated over New York City fifty years ago, we would not accept it as true because we would assume that we would have certainly heard about it, had it actually occurred. The very factors which compel us to accept as true an account of an event of public proportion safeguards us against fabrication of such an event. 

Were this not so all of history could have been fabricated. Had the event at Sinai not actually occurred anyone fabricating it at any point in time would have met with the stiff refutation of the people, "had a mass event of that proportion ever occurred we surely would have heard of it." Fabrication of an event of public proportion is not within the realm of credibility. 

History corroborates this point. In spite of the strong religious instinct in man, no modern religion in over two thousand years has been able to base itself on public revelation. A modern religion demands some kind of verifiable occurrence in order to be accepted. For this reason the two major Western religions, Christianity and Islam, make recourse to the revelation at Sinai. Were it not for this need and the impossibility of manufacturing such evidence, they certainly would not have based their religions on another religion's revelation. 

[I cannot emphasize this enough: if you haven't read the aforementioned essay - or this version of the same argument, or this one - then I urge you to do so.]

This isn't the first time we've seen a great mind spell out the Torah mi'Sinai argument step by step, only to stop short of the logical conclusion which follows. Several years ago we wrote about how Sigmund Freud did just that in his Introductory Letters on Psychoanalysis (1916). Just this summer we wrote about how Mortimer Adler also glossed over Judaism's unique revelation claim in his Truth in Religion (1992).

I guess this just goes to show that just because someone is great thinker who lives in The Age of Reason and advocates for a Life of Reason doesn’t necessarily mean that he will reach the conclusions dictated by Reason.

Mortimer Adler's Kryptonite

Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Mortimer Adler and his wife with Pope Paul VI

Mortimer Adler's Kryptonite

Readers of this blog will be aware of my love and admiration of Mortimer J. Adler (1902 - 2001). To him I owe my knowledge and familiarity with a host of philosophical ideas. Not only did he introduce me to the fundamentals, but he also steered me away from some pretty severe philosophical mistakes. He taught me how to read a book, and introduced me to The Great Books of the Western World. He greatly influenced my writing style, and his essay on learning and teaching became the foundation of my approach to teaching. 

And yet, like all superheroes, Adler had his weakness. Unfortunately, that weakness was religion. Specifically, Thomistic Catholicism.

This post is not intended to be a comprehensive treatment of Adler's views on Catholicism, or on theology in general. If that is of interest to you, read his book Truth in Religion: The Plurality of Religions and the Unity of Truth (1992), which will be discussed later in this blog post.

Instead, in this post I will present an email which I wrote to one of my rabbeim (whom we'll refer to as RJM) ten years ago, at the height of my Adler odyssey, inquiring about Adler's fall into Catholicism. 

Here is my email and RJM's response, minimally edited for publishing on this blog. Links and transliterations were added by me.

[Note: even though I say so clearly in my email, I want to emphasize that the third question was not asked by me, but by one of the younger yeshiva guys; I, myself, would have phrased the question differently - in a decidedly less "Christian" manner.]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kol ha'Seridim to RJM

Dear [RJM],

As a fellow reader of Mortimer J. Adler, I have three question about Adler and religion that I'd like to hear your thoughts (or opinions) on.

Question #1: What's up with his conversion to Christianity? I was just rereading the passage at the end of his second autobiography, which details his conversion: 

In March of 1984, after a trip to Mexico in February, I fell ill, probably from a virus that I had picked up there. The illness was protracted. I was in the hospital for five weeks and, after leaving the hospital, was in bed at home for several months or more. Though I underwent all the diagnostic tests and procedures that the physicians could think of, the illness was never adequately diagnosed; and the cure, when it finally came, involved numerous antibiotics and two blood transfusions that brought my red corpuscle blood counts back to normal.  

During this long stay in the hospital, I suffered a mild depression, and often when Caroline visited me I would, unaccountably, burst into tears. Father Howell, the Rector of Saint Chrysostom's Church, also visited me, and once when, at my bedside, he prayed for my recovery, I choked up and wept. The only prayer that I knew word for word, was the Pater Noster. On that day and in the days after it, I found myself repeating the Lord's Prayer, again and again, and meaning every word of it. Quite suddenly, when I was awake one night, a light dawned on me, and I realized what had happened without my recognizing it clearly when it first happened.  

I had been seriously praying to God. But had I not said at the end of How to Think About God, that no one who understood the God of the philosophers as well as I thought I did, would worship that God or pray to him. Only if, by the gift of grace, one made the leap of faith across the chasm to the God of religious Jews and Christians, would one engage in worship and prayer, believing in a morally good, loving, just, and merciful God.  

Here after many years of affirming God's existence and trying to give adequate reasons for that affirmation, I found myself believing in God and praying to Him ...

In your opinion, is this just another example of an otherwise rational mind being overcome by a powerful religious emotion at a time of insecurity and proximity to death? Or did Adler himself commit a severe philosophical mistake - no doubt originating in his preoccupation with Thomas Aquinas - of which we he was unaware? At the end of this chapter in the autobiography, Adler makes some statements about "the mystery of the Trinity." I find it baffling that the same mind who wrote How to Think About God can simultaneously embrace faith in the Christian doctrine, all on the basis of "grace" which was "received" during a bout of illness and a period of depression. 

Again, perhaps this is just another example of how we humans can compartmentalize, shutting off our minds in certain areas of our lives, no matter how rational we are in everything else. 

Question #2: What about the Torah mi'Sinai argument? From How to Think About God, it appears that Adler was completely unaware of the Sinai argument: 

A third point to be noted follows directly on what has just been said. In the three monotheistic religions of the West - Judaism, Christianity, and Islam - the proposition that God exists is not an article of faith or religious belief. The first article of faith in all three religions is that God has revealed himself to us in Holy Writ or Sacred Scripture. This, of course, entails the affirmation that God has revealed himself to us in Holy Writ or Sacred Scripture. This, of course, entails the affirmation that the God who has revealed himself exists. But it goes far beyond that proposition to something that can never be proved, or even argued about, something that is always and only an article of faith or religious belief: namely, the fact of Divine revelation ... 

It is in no way improper to argue about whether belief in God's existence can be established by reason alone, or at least thereby made reasonable. But it would be quite improper to argue about the reasonableness of the first article of religious faith, that Sacred Scripture represents God's revelation of himself to us. That belief can be neither proved nor disproved, nor is it really a proper subject of argument pro and con. 

Did he just not encounter Torah mi'Sinai in his reading? Does he have some argument against Torah mi'Sinai of which I am unaware? If so, I would love to hear it.

Question #3: What is the state of Adler's soul? This is a question that one of the other guys in yeshiva asked me. I don't really know enough about the soul to be certain that I understand the question, which is why I have turned to you. 

Any thoughts on these questions would be most appreciated. 

- [Kol ha'Seridim]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

RJM to Kol ha'Seridim

Dear [Kol ha'Seridim],

Great to hear from you. I hope you are well.

Response to Question #1: I think Adler had an unusual attitude to religion, inasmuch as he accepted the Thomistic distinction between matters of faith and matters of reason. He seems to have systematically excluded theological doctrines from genuine philosophical scrutiny, because of his assumption that their acceptance or denial is premised on faith and not rational analysis alone.

Adler has a whole book on the subject of religion, called "Truth in Religion", which, in my opinion, is the worst volume he ever produced, poorly reasoned and very obviously a "set up" designed to lead the interested person to the "leap of faith" into Catholic Christianity.

The book starts out rationally, seeking to demonstrate that we must reject relativism and seek objective truth even in the realm of religion. Nowadays, this is a major point that needs to be stressed, so kol ha'kavod to him for making it clear. He summarily dismisses polytheistic religions for good reason, but these are about the only meritorious aspects of the text. It is all downhill from there.

Adler argues, for example, that the mysteriousness of a religion is evidence for its veracity, because a purely rational religion wouldn't require revelation for its establishment. In these passages he is clearly arguing in favor of Christianity and against Judaism, although he is never so explicit. All in all, it is not an objective I don't recommend the book, although I am confident that you would not come to any harm in reading it ...

By the way, it is well known that a disproportionate number of Adler's Jewish students in the University of Chicago converted to Catholicism after studying Aquinas with him, although he waited till much later to do so.

Response to Question #2: I doubt if he was aware of the argument. Most philosophers aren't. For example, David Conway (ironically, a student of Antony Flew) authored a book called "The Rediscovery of Wisdom", in which he argues that the ultimate goal of philosophy should be the contemplation of God, and that generations of philosophers have been misled by the gross distortions of later thinkers. He basically shows that the purpose of philosophy was classically understood as a process of achieving yediat Hashem (knowledge of God) and ahavat Hashem (love of God), and also argues that many of the supposed "debunkings" of proofs for God's existence are fatally flawed and should never have gained the currency they now have in academia. He therefore reestablishes the existence of God as a fact and the goal of knowledge of God as the raison d'etre of all rational creatures.

Amazingly, he brings Judaism into this, looking at the varied interpretations of Maimonides and Spinoza vis a vis the purpose of mitsvot. Conway concludes that the Torah's objective is indeed what Maimonides states - the same as the objective of philosophy, to enable the Jewish nation to dedicate their lives to the contemplation of God. Keep in mind that this guy is a secular academic, so this is all pretty amazing already.

The problem emerges when he compares the relative merits of philosophy and Judaism, and questions the basis for belief in the revelation claim. He literally totally misreads the story and misrepresents the tradition, claiming that Jews themselves believe that the events were not written down until hundreds of years after the fact, etc. He doesn't even mention the mass revelation component because, as he states in the text, his impression is that Moses went up onto a mountain by himself to receive the laws!!! (I tried to contact and correct him, but I was unsuccessful and kind of gave up).

BTW, I also penned a letter to M.J. Adler, which he received and which was read to him, literally days before his death. The response I got from his assistant was that matters of religion are very personal. But I did argue for the rationality of belief in Judaism as opposed to Christianity quite passionately. Perhaps he had hirhurei teshuva (thoughts of repentance) before he died.

Response to Question #3: Ultimately, I don't think anyone but the Ribbono Shel Olam (Master of the Universe) can know the answer to this question in a definitive manner. We have no access to the recesses of anyone's soul, how they truly conceive of God, etc. So speculation is all we have.

Adler accepted an idolatrous religion but his sophisticated version of that religion precluded him from the gross philosophical materialism, emotionalism and infantile God-concept normally associated with it. So it would seem that the possibility exists that Adler's soul was sufficiently actualized and thus distinct from matter such that it could have survived his physical death. And from the standpoint of halakha he was certainly a tinoq shenishba (a "captured baby" i.e. a Jew who was raised without knowledge of Judaism) par excellence, so a halakhically mandated karet (spiritual excision) wouldn't be an issue. Plus, the remote chance exists that he may have recognized his error and repented in his last moments of life.

On the other hand, it is possible that his conception of God (the foundation of his understanding of reality) was not sufficiently purified of its material elements and thus his soul remained imprisoned in the shackles of physicality and perished.

In the end, whatever he was zocheh (meritorious) to, we can be sure he received it! 

I hope this speedily composed response is helpful. Feel free to continue the correspondence as you see fit.

Best Regards,

RJM

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I found RJM's response to be enlightening, since it provided a greater context for Adler's theological misstep. I was particularly intrigued by RJM's attempt to contact Adler on his deathbed, and the latter's response (via his assistant) that "matters of religion are very personal" - an uncharacteristic response from a man who was so committed to truth and precision in thinking.

In writing this blog post I came across an article by Deal Hudson about Adler's conversion, entitled The Great Philosopher Who Became Catholic. Hudson writes:

The more we talked the more I realized Mortimer really wanted to be a Roman Catholic, but issues like abortion and the resistance of his family and friends were keeping him away. I tried to show him that his own Aristotelian-Thomistic metaphysics of act-potency led him to understand the necessity of protecting unborn life. But just at that moment, Mortimer would uncharacteristically mutter, "It's all too complicated," and change the subject. But I knew that he knew he was being inconsistent. I didn't have to press him – because I knew he knew, and it was only a matter of time before he acquiesced.

At several of our seminars was the Catholic prelate of San Jose, Bishop Pierre DuMaine. The bishop and I would sometimes tag-team the philosopher on the Catholic Church, and we would all end up laughing about how Mortimer deflected the inevitable conclusion.

These reports of inconsistency and evasiveness on Adler's part in matters of religion are consistent with RJM's testimony about Adler's response to his letter. 

It would be easy to pass judgment on Adler and condemn him for this severe intellectual / philosophical / epistemological shortcoming. Indeed, when I first learned of this truth, I held it against him, and was almost angry at him for this failing. I felt: "How could MY Adler, whose views on all philosophical matters are backed by airtight reasoning and solid arguments - how could he hold such a stupid view? Arriving at a false conclusion through a mistake in reasoning is one thing, and I realize that no human being is infallible, but to accept an irrational belief system on the basis of an irrational 'faith experience'? That is unforgivable." 

Looking back at my reaction, I am reminded of one of my favorite passages from John Steinbeck's East of Eden:

When a child first catches adults out - when it first walks into his grave little head that adults do not always have divine intelligence, that their judgments are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just - his world falls into panic desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone. And there is one sure thing about the fall of gods: they do not fall a little; they crash and shatter or sink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And the child's world is never quite whole again. It is an aching kind of growing.

Now, ten years after this email exchange, with an additional decade's worth of learning, maturity, and self-knowledge under my belt, my judgment of Adler has softened considerably. I have come to realize that we ALL have our blind-spots. Some people go through their entire lives without becoming aware of their blind-spots. Others, like Adler, actively resist the distortion in thinking which arise from these hidden biases, but ultimately succumb in moments of weakness. None of us is immune to this type of blindness, and we can never be sure that we won't succumb. 

Now I am at the point of maturity where I realize that it is possible to acknowledge that a great thinker can make a childish error, without this diminishing the emunas chachamim I have when reading his works, "for there is no man so wholly righteous on earth who does [only] good and never sins" (Koheles 7:20).

Every superhero has his kryptonite.